Snow, Light and Angels' Flight
by ordinary vamp
Summary: Bella Swan went to the Chicago Symphony with the state's Golden Boy on Christmas Eve. She left him to find Edward Cullen, the famous composer, her secret infatuation, as if he were waiting for her. *Won Nice Voter's Pick in the Naughty or Nice Contest*
1. Chapter 1

"**Entry for the Naughty or Nice Holiday Contest"**

**Story Title:** Snow, Light and Angels' Flights

**Summary:** Bella Swan went to the Chicago Symphony with the state's Golden Boy on Christmas Eve. She left him to find Edward Cullen, the famous composer, her secret infatuation, as if he were waiting for her.

**Pairing:** Edward and Bella

**Category:** Nice

**Word Count:** 4,294

**Disclaimer:** Everything _Twilight_ belongs to Stephenie Meyer. All songs and compositions belong to the respectful owners. This author is in no way associated with the creator, producer of the franchise _Twilight_, book or movie, or to the creators of all the music mentioned. No copyright infringement intended. I don't own the rights to the books/movies or to any of the music mentioned, okay? I don't own the rights to the "Lost Christmas Eve" album from the Trans-Siberian Orchestra, just a copy.

**Genre:** Hurt/Comfort, Romance

**Rating:** M, for language

**Beta Reader:** Duchess Michelle

**A/N:** The title comes from the narration of the Lost Christmas Eve, from the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. I've only ever heard it once, but I did find it on the net. This one shot is for the "Naughty or Nice Contest", hosted by the Twi-Muses. Voting begins on December 5th, and ends on December 12th. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!

It was all a very posh occasion. The usher led Bella and Michael to their seats, the plush red cushions a glowing beacon in the growing darkness. Sure, they were late, but that was because Michael had needed to check his pockets – again. It niggled at Bella, but she was determined to ignore it; she focused on the joyous occasion and hoped that all else was soon to be forgotten.

They were to see the Chicago Symphony, with Edward Cullen as their guest performer. She sighed, her anticipation getting the better of her. The tickets were all she had asked for for Christmas and Michael had delivered – though with much scoffing and eye-rolling. Truly, he had never understood her fascination with classical music, instead belittling it, treating it as a passing fancy. But this was all Bella had asked for, she reminded herself; _I will not feel guilty, I will not feel guilty_. The remorse wiggled through her resolve, though, and she began to second guess her decision. _Not much to do about it, now_. The tickets were paid for, they were at their seats. She was determined to enjoy her night out, regardless of Michael's flippant attitude.

They were seated in the middle of the theatre, right in the centre. Michael hadn't gotten the cheap seats – but he never did. It was always the best for him and Bella, his "girl", as he said, as though they were stuck in a 1950's movie. She scoffed at the thought.

The theatre went completely dark. The stage lit up in a flash of colour, the orchestra filling their spots, surrounding the grand piano in a semi-circle. Quickly, efficiently, they picked up their instruments ready for Edward Cullen to come out. The conductor pulled out his wand, at the ready. Edward Cullen then came out, clothed in a dark tuxedo, a red kerchief in his breast pocket, and holly decorating his lapel; festive.

Bella gasped at his face. Of course she'd seen his face in pictures and on the television, but so close? In person? He was a vision – strong jaw line, proud nose and cheek bones; she fancied she could see his deep emerald eyes from this far, twinkling and sparkling in the spotlight. But on a whole, his face was a thunderhead – Mr. Edward Cullen was not impressed. But even with a murderous expression, Bella reflected, the man was beautiful. She sighed quietly, while surreptitiously glancing at Michael, who was already checking the time. She rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything, not wanting to spoil the evening.

Edward bowed to the crowd slightly, his face dark. He flipped the coat-tails out before sitting at the bench, his hands hovering above the keys. He nodded to the conductor, before playing. The music poured forth, a gentle number. Bella refused to close her eyes, as the music often moved her to do, because she wanted to see the vision before her. Edward melded with the music, as if it came not from his fingers, but from his soul, heart and mind. It in itself was breathtaking to see. She swayed slightly in her chair, letting the music inside of her, caressing her soul. The rest of the symphony joined in then, a beautiful harmony to the notes from the piano, entwining together to enchant the audience. Bella detected the violins singing, the flutes and clarinets chirping – the flash of bronze clued her in to the beginning of the brass, even before they began. She could hear the harp, steady if slightly quiet. It was beautiful.

She knew this number – it was often attributed to Edward Cullen's rise to fame. "Sunrise Delicacy" bled into Vivaldi's "Winter", the transition seamless. Bella could barely discern the change, but it was there. She loved the depth of the music, a drastic change from the first, especially because there was no piano piece in Vivaldi. She mused that Edward Cullen had done the transposing himself. The focus in the piece was clearly the piano, so loud and deep and scary. It evoked such strong emotions in Bella, she was determined not to cry – or hide. She was being ridiculous, but it didn't matter to her. The music was shaking her soul. Again, after another flawless change, "Silent Night" came from the stage. A choir came out from above the orchestra, in perfect harmony, singing the lyrics of the song. Edward Cullen had a solo, in between two verses, inordinately long, but Bella didn't care. He looked – a most serene up there. She fancied he looked better than he did when he first came up on stage.

The orchestra was there only for Edward Cullen, backing him up, it was clear to her. Their music was submissive to the glory of the piano and the notes that came from it and its player. Bella was in awe of both. Edward made the piano and its ferocious notes look utterly feral, while he was the tamer. It was an epic battle before her eyes and she loved every second of it. The song changed to "Christmas Canon", the piano soft and caressing the music. The choir was beautiful with their voices, the lyrics that came forth so much prettier than on the radio. Bella loved the Trans-Siberian Orchestra, but this cover of the song was to be her favorite, she knew immediately. Edward looked like a god on the piano in this song – he loved it too, she could tell. And so he played, a wide assortment of songs, ranging from Christmas Carols, some with the choir and some without, like "Little Drummer Boy", his own compositions, and classics, like Beethoven's "Piano Concerto no. 2". It was mesmerizing to see the music come together from such a myriad of instruments in a variety of songs and concertos. Bella loved every second of it, her discomfort soon forgotten.

The crowning moment of the night was the final song. It was Edward Cullen's piece, "Tempest's Heart", with deep notes and heavy piano that made her evening. It was her favorite piece that he wrote, so soulful and heart-wrenching. It was terribly sad and angry – she absolutely adored it. Bella found it odd though, that they would play it at the end, to close the performance – a composition so full of heartache to close a holiday show. It didn't matter to her, so long as he played it. He got up from the piano, signifying the end of the night, and turned to the audience, bowing. He smiled slightly, and left the stage. The applause was thunderous, shaking the theatre. Edward Cullen stepped out from the curtains, and a bouquet was handed to him from a gorgeous woman, her hair perfectly coiffed, body covered in a spectacular dress for this single moment. Bella envied her completely. Edward bowed to the crowd, smiled before exiting the stage again, permanently this time. Bella sighed as Michael nudged her out of her seat.

"Happy, Bella? Merry Christmas, sweetheart," Michael said, as he bent to kiss Bella; she moved her face at the last second and Michael's lips grazed her cheek. He looked down at her, concerned but brushed the incident off.

"Now, you must know I really love you, since you made me sit through that! C'mon baby, it's almost Christmas. I want to be home _with you_" – the stress on these words left nothing for Bella to guess at – "when the clocks strike midnight."

Bella didn't respond, but allowed Michael to pull her through the crowd, out into the main hall of the theatre. It was opulent, with marble columns, and frescoes on the ceiling imitating Renaissance art. A large chandelier was directly in the centre of the room, with about five tiers of crystal reaching down. It was dark inside here, and dramatic. Michael suddenly stopped, turning swiftly to Bella.

Michael was fiddling with the contents of his pockets. He pulled out a blue box (_the_ blue box of the coveted Tiffany hue), before pulling his pant leg up. He bent down, on one knee and Bella gasped.

Instead of her past flashing before her eyes, it was her future – staying at home, while Michael made a name for himself in the political circles; having blond-haired children, little mini Michaels racing about; a trophy wife, something to parade about, a decoration, a bauble; another affair to deal with – Michael had already had a few, and would continue to do so, as if Bella was stupid. Suddenly a pair of green eyes, an angry face and unruly bronze hair danced about her mind.

"Isabella Swan, you've been the light of my life for so long. You've warmed my heart and soul. I love you, and I always will. Will you marry me? Will you make me the luckiest man alive?" Michael asked, though Bella barely heard it. Instead she heard the gleeful whispers and felt the pointed stares.

"Oh Michael," she whispered, tears inexplicably coming to her eyes. She knew then, that she wouldn't be able to love Michael. Bella never really had, if she was going to be utterly truthful – she'd believed in the relationship, but it hadn't been enough.

"Bella!" He cried, getting up and slipping the ring on her finger, before pulling her in for a kiss. She shook her head violently, almost hitting him in the nose.

"Mikey," she whispered, using her old nickname for him. "I can't. I just… I don't love you." The_ anymore_ died on her tongue – she couldn't lie and say she had once loved him in her life.

"But – Bella –"

"Michael – I can't get into this. You've… the relationship was convenient for us both. And I thought it could work but… but, you, Michael, you thought I didn't know?" Bella snapped, suddenly angry. She didn't know where it came from, and she didn't care that the group watching her was growing, each person eating up the drama with their greedy eyes. She knew that many of the people would recognize Michael as the governor's son, and how he was obviously being duped, but she didn't let it deter her.

"Know what, Bella?" he sneered, the rare insight to his true personality strangely refreshing.

"The fact that you cheated, Mikey? The fact that you fucked at least three women that I know of? I trusted you, you bastard – I thought I loved you. But I loved an idea. Goodbye, Michael. You can ship my stuff to my apartment." Bella said before turning away, letting her tears fall finally.

"You can't do this!" He screeched.

"I damn well can. You can't boss me around _and_ you can't treat me like a possession. I don't love you, Michael," she said. Then she ran. She pushed passed the crowds, their shocked whispers following her out the door.

Once outside, she turned blindly, trying to outrun the outraged look on Michael's face, the harsh murmurs and her own pain. But they followed her with each twist and turn into the city. Defeated, she stopped and slumped in a door step, her tears racing down her cheeks, each one invariably falling on her heart. She didn't cry for her heartbreak – or Michael's – but for what could have been, had she loved him, had he been faithful – had he loved her, respected her, and trusted her. _Perhaps_, Bella thought, _I knew this. I think I always knew he was an ass_.

So she sat in the doorway, crying for a different life based on 'what ifs' and fantasies. Those green eyes came back to her, bringing with them the truth that she loved a man she'd never talked to, met, or seen, before that evening. It was insane to love the man, but it was his music that had so inspired her as she wrote. Edward Cullen… Bella cried harder, all the while snow falling delicately to the ground; the romantic setting pulling her tears out even more.

"Heyyy, girl, why's a pretty thing like you cryin'?" a man slurred from her left. The rancid smell of body odor and old alcohol preceded him slightly. Bella wrinkled her nose, disgusted.

She looked up to face a scruffy man, his long beard matted and dirty and his clothes unkempt. He leered at her, and she shifted on the step.

"Please… I need to be alone," she hiccupped. He moved closer to her. Bella pulled her knees up, wrapping her arm around them.

"Aww, tell me whas the matter, baby. I promise to make you feel better. C'mon, girl," he said, shuffling ever closer.

"No, please. Leave me be!" she cried, her voice scratchy from lack of use.

"Aw, y'know I'm her fer ya, baby. I'll keep you warm, tonight, girl!" he laughed, making an awkward lunge for her. His inebriated state caused him to hit the wall right beside her. He shook himself off, no longer laughing. "C'mon bitch. You and me's gonna have a fun time."

"No! Just go. I don't want to be anywhere near you!" she screeched, her voice hoarse with fear. She began to cry, her body folding in on itself. Bella rocked herself in the doorway, her body locked in the fetal position. It refused to budge.

"Good thing, ya know not to run. Imma fast runner, kay?" He smiled wickedly then. "But hey, who doesn't like a little chase, huh?"

"Take my purse. Don't touch me please," Bella shrieked again. Her pain over the breakup forgotten, her mind was now clouded with terror.

"If you're a wise man, which I highly doubt, I would greatly suggest that you leave the woman alone and get on with your miserable life." A velvety voice was heard then, and it immediately reminded Bella of angels. So clear and beautiful, it was surely a sign of the seraphic beings.

"Wass it to you, if I leave her alone her not?" the drunken man asked.

"Nothing," the man said ruthlessly. "But she is too good for you, you bastard. Leave her be."

The man flung himself at the other, stumbling on the uneven sidewalk and collapsing on Bella's savior. She hastened to get up, her intuition immediately telling her it was safe. She hovered in the doorway, relief and gratitude warring within her at the sight of her rescuer. And then her heart stopped.

He had gorgeous bronze hair, permanently mussed up. A proud jaw line, not unlike the one she had been ogling over a few short hours ago. She hadn't heard him speak at the concert, his voice but a faint memory from the one radio interview she'd managed to catch. Edward Cullen was there, with the drunken fool by the throat, ready to smash his face with a fist.

"Please, don't ruin yourself over him. Your hands are too precious," Bella rasped.

Edward looked despairingly at her, over the wriggling body, vainly trying to get out of the iron band. "No." And Edward sent him sprawling to the ground with a single punch.

"Come along now. I'm not going to leave you out in the cold," Edward called brusquely. He walked slowly to Bella, grabbing her hand gently and pulling her to a silver car.

"A Volvo?" she asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes," he said curtly. "Come on." He opened the door, waiting impatiently for her to enter. As soon as she'd smoothed her skirt beneath her, he slammed the door, rounding the car to the driver's seat. Barely waiting for the seatbelt to lock into place, he peeled out of the street, racing for the nearest intersection.

"What I don't understand is why a woman all dressed up like you is out in the frigid weather, on Christmas Eve? In one of the scariest Chicago neighborhoods, no less?" he said, bitingly.

"What I'd like to know," Bella shot back, the awe of her rescuer wearing off, "is why _you_ are here."

Silence. His jaw set, a murderous frown marring his features, as he wove in between the snow and other cars; more often than not, blaring horns followed him.

"You're a bit overdressed, but I think it'll do," Edward said suddenly. "It will have to, I guess."

"Why? Where are we going?"

"A bar," he replied shortly.

"Take me home," Bella demanded.

"Do you _really_ want to go?" he asked, his eyes flashing to her face.

_Yes_ was on the tip of her tongue. In fact, it was right there when she opened her mouth. But "no" popped out instead. Frowning, and slightly embarrassed, she looked out the windshield, suddenly so avidly interested with the snow swirling downward.

"Fine, then. The place is a bit of a dive, but it is atmospheric. I think you'll enjoy it…" he trailed off. "What's your name?"

"Bella Swan," she replied.

"Edward Cullen, but I suppose you already know that." He smiled, his mood warming quickly.

"Please, Ms. Swan, explain to me why you were huddled in a doorway, with a drunken terror about to… well, I don't need to scare you, I'm sure you know what was to happen," he said, a frown forming on his brow.

Bella didn't want to tell him. She was embarrassed; a delayed adrenaline rush was coursing through her system. But instead of brushing the question off, she began to answer him, explaining to the musical god her failed romance with Michael Newton Jr., the governor's spoiled son. She continued through the story, her cheeks flaming as she described the way he had proposed, and how she had ruthlessly rejected it. The guilt that should have came at that singular moment began to affect her now, twisting her insides. She began to shake, her breathy words escaping in short gasps.

"Easy, Ms. Swan," Edward suddenly took a u-turn, ending in a parking space on the other side of the street.

"It's… It's Bella," she corrected stubbornly.

"Bella…" Edward sighed pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Is it weird," Bella started, taking a quick break to catch her breath. She closed her eyes, trying to focus – they sprang back open of their accord when she felt a thumb – _Edward's_ thumb – rubbing soothing circles into the back of her hand.

"What?" he asked.

"That I feel guilty… not because I loved him, or that I believed I made a mistake, or because I felt he really did love me and I'm a bitch. But this is going to be scandalous. My name will be blown up in the press, as the witch that dumped Illinois's Golden Boy. I feel guilty because my parents liked him – but they didn't know him. I feel bad that I wasted _three_ years of our lives on a near fictitious romance. I feel terrible that –"

"He was a prick," Edward cut in sharply.

"What?" She yelped.

"Michael Newton was – is – an asshole. Do you know he tried to bribe me, and ask that I play something new, and entirely unpracticed? He wanted Vivaldi's "Autumn" to be played, because he knew you liked it. He tried to threaten my career, the fool of a man. Blackmail, bribery, none of it worked, and the only thing he succeeded in doing was pissing me off," Edward sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

"That's why you looked ready to chew nails when you came out." She shook her head. "What an idiot. Sure, it's a beautiful piece, but I've enjoyed the Toccata and Fugue for far longer." She didn't need to say who it was; Edward didn't need any sort of explanation in regards to the most famous classical composer, Bach. She was embarrassed the thought had even passed through her mind. Predictably, her face heated up.

"Bella…" Edward whispered, brushing his fingertips lightly over her pink-stained cheeks.

"Edward," she gasped.

"This is, this is..." his fingers continued to caress her face, lightly tracing her silhouette. "wrong." Came the heart-wrenching continuance.

Bella sighed, willing the desparity she felt to go away.

"So… are we there?" she asked, subtly moving her face away from his gentle touches. She still felt the loss of his warmth.

"Ah, yes we are. Welcome to the _Barman's Haven_." He gestured to the quaint pub outside the street.

He led Bella outside the car, this time waiting for her outside the car. He placed his hand at the small of her back, leading her into the pub.

There was a blue haze from the _real_ fireplace throughout the room. It smelled of cedar, a scent Bella adored. Small tables were outlined through the smoke, and a long bar ran along the far side of the pub. It was a classic '70s deal, with diamond shaped mirrors behind the colored glass of the alcohol bottles. There was an American flag hung proudly in the corner, along with pictures of the winning White Sox over the years. She turned slightly, and noticed a dilapidated wreath hanging on the door. She smiled, immediately in love with the building.

"Edward, how are ya?" the bartender asked, beaming at the couple.

"Not too badly, Felix. And yourself?" Edward replied easily.

"Fine, fine. You know where everything is, don't let me stop you," he smiled, waving the couple away. Edward grabbed her hand, pulling her to an ancient upright piano in a little corner of the pub. He sat her down on the edge, sliding in next to her. His fingers touched the keys, almost absentmindedly, and music began to pour from the piano. He played for a while, while Bella looked questioningly upon him.

"_Butterflies and Hurricanes_?" Edward asked. "The song, from Muse? No?" he seemed deeply offended.

"No, sorry," she said, ducking her head to hide the telltale blush.

"We'll have to remedy that," he said firmly.

And he began to play. This was so much more different than the music from the symphony – it was loose, and so very liberating for Edward; Bella could see that in his eyes. He played Muse, "educating" her, as he put it. He played swanky jazz numbers that made Bella wiggle in her seat. Elton John, Billy Joel, Vivaldi, Beethoven and Bach, all from Edward and the piano.

He began to play his own music for a while, and Bella watched with rapt attention at something that came from somewhere so deep in Edward, she felt as if she were intruding on something intimate. A melody she had never heard of before came from the man and the piano, so sweet and innocent she smiled at the purity of it. Then it changed, so suddenly, into the Toccata and Fugue and Bella was completely spellbound. There was such passion in the way he played; it seeped through the air and became something tangible.

"Oh Edward," she murmured, completely in awe.

"Bella," he responded, abruptly getting up. He got them each a drink, a white wine for Bella, and a bottle of Coors for himself. He fiddled with something beneath the counter; Christmas carols began playing softly from the speakers around the book.

Edward pulled Bella up and against him, and began to dance around the floor. Taken aback, she stumbled, simultaneously saying that she didn't dance.

"Nonsense. It's all in the leading," he replied smoothly, swirling her around while Bing Crosby crooned "White Christmas". She sighed, leaning her head against Edward's chest. His breathing quickened.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be quite so –" he uttered, eyes wide and wary.

"Edward… just stop, okay? I know it's about Michael," she said sternly. "I'm over it… I was for a while, I think."

"Just, are you sure?" he asked, his green eyes pleading with her.

Bella wanted to do something rash. She had adored this man, loved him even, for a long time. She was unattached, finally free from Michael, the domineering prick, and she wanted to prove it. She pulled Edward to the centre of the room, right where the light fixture hung. Attached to it, flowing freely was mistletoes – no literally, it was a bundle of the plant itself, with little ceramic feet dangling beneath the bag. She snorted, but continued with her plan. Stopping right underneath the mistletoe, she pulled Edward Cullen down to her and looked him in the eye.

"Merry Christmas, Edward," she said. She knew he didn't have a clue what was about to happen. His response was on his lips when she pressed her mouth to his. Chastely, they kissed for a few moments, before Edward pulled away, breath ragged.

"Merry Christmas, Bella," he gasped, before dragging her close and kissing her again – this time it was full of lust and passion. It was deep ad sensual, and lasted far longer than Bella had ever been kissed before. It was amazing and godly – it was perfect. Bella knew in that instant that she would never feel such a reaction to her again; it was only Edward. Michael was completely forgotten.

"I've wanted that to happen since that idiot showed me a picture of you," he said, holding her close.

"He what? When?" she yelped.

"Three weeks ago, when he tried to blackmail me. Bella, he was never good enough for you," Edward said.

"I know… Edward," she said peacefully, laying her head on his chest. They stayed in the bar for a few more minutes before Edward explained to Bella that he had a key. "I use this place to practice, sometimes, or to get out of my head." he shrugged. He locked up and led Bella outside by the hand.

It was snowing – not a lot, but enough to create the most perfect night Bella could ever imagine. _This, moments like _these_ are why I love winter_, she thought happily.

Edward swept her up in a hug, holding her close. He kissed her temple, murmuring against her silky skin, "Merry Christmas, love."

_The End_

**A/N:** Leaving me a line and tell me what you thought would be a wonderful way to start my Holiday Season. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Snow, Light and Angels' Flight**

**A/N:** Hello! The second part, as promised. Thanks to everyone who voted, reviewed, read and enjoyed the one-shot. I'm very pleased to announce that _Snow, Light and Angels' Flight_ one the Voters Pick in the contest! Thank you everyone! A lot of people said that this could've been a full length fic. Alas, I'm doing this chapter, and that's it. So, enjoy some Christmas goodness with this, _Capture Snow's Magic_. Again, the line is from the Trans-Siberian Orchestra, the narrative for the song _Back to a Reason (Part II)_. I'll post the lyrics on my profile...

**Disclaimer:** Stephenie Meyer owns all _Twilight Saga_ related things. I own the plot. The Trans-Siberian Orchestra owns the song _Back to a Reason (Part II)_, and its narrative. I just really liked the album.

Without further ado, the second part! Read and enjoy…

**A Year Later** – Capture Snow's Magic

Edward sat on the piano bench, idly tinkering with the keys. Even absentminded, Bella reflected, Edward's music was beautiful. Senseless melodies poured out, light hearted and warm.

"Are you going to ask how it went?" Bella asked, anticipation leaking into her tone. Sternly, she schooled her facial expression into that of indifference.

"Oh, yes. How was the doctor's appointment?" he replied.

"Well, it's not the flu," Bella said, placating. She had been so happy to tell him the news, but she hadn't thought of the _how_.

"It's nothing serious is it?" he demanded sharply, swiveling to look at her. His eyes pierced her, looking closely for any hint of bad news.

"Well it _is_ life altering, that's for sure," she smiled slightly. Her insides danced with nerves and glee, a jig that had her stomach contents pushing up her throat. She ran from the cozy armchair by the piano and bolted to the bathroom.

"Bella!" Edward shouted, not even a step behind her. Patiently, he rubbed her back with one hand, while the other pulled at his hair. It wasn't the first time Bella had thrown up, but the episodes were happening more frequently.

"I'm pregnant," she said faintly, wiping her mouth, a smile shining in her eyes.

Bella had caught him off guard, which had been her main objective. She continued cleaning herself, going about it as if she totally hadn't dropped the biggest piece of news in her life. She went back into the library, patiently picking up the worn notebook she wrote her plot-bunnies in.

"Isabella." Edward said from the door jam, leaning on it as if it were his only thing keeping him upright.

"Yes, Edward?" she inquired, looking up at him.

"Just… give me a damn second, okay? I can't believe… it's… when… ah fuck," he trailed off, running his fingers through his hair again.

"What would you like to know?" she said, giving him a few minutes to think.

"Am I the father?" he joked weakly.

In response, she threw a tasseled pillow at him, missing by at least two feet; the only reaction his bad joke received. He walked over to the armchair, delicately picking her up and placing Bella in her lap once he was settled him. She nuzzled his neck, breathing in his unique scent.

"I'm almost in the middle of my first trimester. We can both do math reasonably well – he or she was conceived back in November," Bella sighed.

He brushed a kiss to the top of her head. "Is… it healthy?"

"As healthy as can be determined – it's too early for anything, really," she assured. She pulled the single sheet of paper (her blood tests confirming her pregnancy) from her bra cup, Plan B for Edward finding out. He groaned as she did it, loving her easy sensuality.

"Look," she said, turning it slightly to the right.

Edward gently grabbed the sheet, studying it for a minute, holding it up to the firelight to better get a clearer understanding. "Ah, I'm sure you're right, love. I've never had to look at one of these things before. Although, isn't it kind of early for all of your… reactions?"

"Umm. My body is still taking its time to the hormonal changes. Do you know how big it is now? Less than an inch. It's like the size of an eraser tip of a pencil." She grinned. "The technician used her own pencil as an example. But I was still in shock, and I wanted to tell you, so I rushed home, and I think I… forgot," Bella said, bashfully.

"You rushed home." Edward said quietly, veiling the statement in a question.

"Ah, well, yes. To tell you," Bella said, only guessing where this was going.

"In this weather." The statement-as-a-question appeared again, the steely tone alerting Bella to trouble.

"Yes, I wanted you to know right away," she said, frowning.

"And you knew I was in practice," Edward affirmed. It was true – he was spending most of his time with the Chicago Orchestra, working and preparing and practicing for the Christmas Eve show. Bella had been able to sit in and watch some of the rehearsals, and was absolutely in awe of the transformation from the hazy beginnings to the precise melodies of the eve of the show.

"I was running late…" Bella sighed, internally face-palming.

"Bella. You can't be so reckless with the baby," he said, calmly.

_Oh, that's rich_, Bella thought wryly. Edward was constantly speeding; claiming speed limits were only a suggestion.

"Edward, I'm going to forget this part happened. BUT, if you try to tell me to be careful, I swear on every deity I know that you will be in the proverbial doghouse for the next six months. And I'll tell Esme," Bella nodded, satisfied.

"And for the record," she added, moving to get up. "The roads were fine. Because its winter, does _not_ mean it's snowing every goddamn time we open the shutters."

She got up, moving away, letting Edward sit in silence and study the blood test, their reality sealed in the single piece of paper.

~:~

It hadn't been an overly easy year for Edward and Bella. Mouths had flapped as soon as Bella ran out of the theatre, spreading the gossip that the Golden Boy hade been _dumped_. The news was at every prominent table in the state, with snippets of tales passed along with the mashed potatoes, and pooled with the gravy. It was eaten up with the same avid interest that people had with their turkey on Christmas. A mere two days later, and Bella and Michael's faces were plastered on every newspaper's front page, and decorated the tabloids. Bella was humiliated.

And Michael…

Michael was angry. His humiliation ran deeper, and grew from those dark places in his heart. He resented Bella for leaving him, especially for all of his father's money he had spent on the ring and the tickets. The dinner they had enjoyed prior to the symphony. He hated Edward Cullen – he had seen the look on Bella's face during the performance. Michael was convinced he had been the sole reason for Bella leaving him like that. His discrepancies were ignored through his rants. _He_ was never the problem, he convinced himself. It was the foolish Bella and the stupid Edward Cullen.

And when the quiet article tucked in the end pages of the entertainment section, published a few months later, had said that Edward Cullen was dating someone, with a shady picture of a brunette, Michael _knew_. He knew it was Bella with him, and it outraged him that she had managed to get so close to him so quickly. Little did he know it had been silently going on since the night she had ran away.

Michael had complied with her wishes, sending off boxes filled with her possessions, hoping it would help her return to him. Instead, she had thanked him, and gave him a Rubbermaid tub filled with little trinkets he'd forgotten at her apartment. Once the door closed behind Bella he threw the box at the wall. She was gone – it was just beginning to don on him that Bella, the fool tart his mother had never liked, had left him.

Bella and Edward had fallen into the relationship. Literally. She spent Christmas at his house, the two of them alone, exploring each other – they talked, made love, ate a turkey dinner that his mother had catered to his house. She quickly began spending most of her time at his home. Bella had been shocked to find herself in a relationship that was just so… perfect for her. With Michael she had stalled and doubted. With Edward, everything had just fallen in to place.

It had taken Edward months to convince her to go out with him, in public. She had been so mortified after the media had blown her dumping Michael so out of proportion; she refused to step out of her apartment or his house. And when that one, single article was published, Bella was free. Although, she had been terrified to read it.

Edward had slowly acclimatized him to his life. She met his family at Easter, and gone on his first tour after six months. He had been able to finally – _finally_ – get Bella to move in, in September. She had told him she loved him in August, though she had loved him before she had talked to him.

~:~

Bella wore a kelly green dress to the Christmas Eve symphony. Her stomach was still petite – all her favorite clothes still fit, which definitely would have pleased Alice, Edward's sister. Edward had worn one of his many tuxedos – she believed that only composers and pianists and actors would own multiple tuxes – again, with holly on his lapel and a green kerchief in his breast pocket, inconspicuously matching Bella's dress.

Edward helped Bella into her jacket, leaving it open for a second, to nuzzle her stomach; she sighed. He did the buttons up slowly, sensuously, tickling her belly ever so slightly to see her shiver.

"C'mon love, it's time," Edward said against her cheek.

He pulled her through the house by the hand, pausing momentarily to lock up. It was snowing lightly, creating the perfect Christmas Eve. Bella could have easily curled up in front of the fireplace with hot chocolate and a book, as she could (and would) go to the Christmas Eve symphony.

The drive was easy – there was hardly a car on the road. _Prime time for Edward to speed_, Bella thought; but he didn't. He followed the speed signs, refusing to go even ten miles an hour over. She scoffed, but Edward ignored it, instead looking at her midriff. Indeed, they were lucky Edward was needed almost two hours in advance, in order to practice and make final preparations.

Bella stayed with him the entire time – when he greeted acquaintances from within the orchestra, board members of the theatre, the composer; while he went over the final selections of the music, the order. She was in his dressing room – which was more of a suite – while he practiced on the baby grand in it. She sat on the bench with Edward, leaning on him slightly, enjoying the music that spilled from the man and his piano.

When it was socially appropriate for her to go to her seat, Bella left him with a kiss. Her seats were drastically different this time; Edward always had a balcony reserved, but rarely used. His family was normally in New York, with his brother and sister-in-law during Christmas, so the balcony remained unused. Bella was the only soul sitting there this year. She didn't mind really; it was always so intimate to watch Edward play, and anyone there was almost intruding.

The set up was much the same – the orchestra filled in first, shadows picking up instruments and preparing to play. Edward walked out next, a crooked smile gracing his face. He glanced up to Bella's balcony and his face literally glowed. She sighed, and gave a slight wave.

He began with something drastic – the Toccata and Fugue, Bella's favorite. She could almost imagine the murmurs of the surprised benefactors that he would start of the festive show with _this_. But this to Bella… was gold. He moved into something light, _Ave Maria_, when a choir walked out, again above the orchestra. Their clear voices and the gentle piano pulled Bella so utterly into the music; she figured that she was soon to forget she was in the theatre.

This year was as much the same as it was different. To Bella, it was one of those rare moments when the knowledge she held changed absolutely everything and nothing; it comforted her, and rocked the very bedrock of her life. She smiled, rubbing her stomach softly, whispering the lyrics to Christmas carols or sweet nothings to her baby.

"Lullaby" came next. Edward had played it for Bella in Felix's smoky pub – for the first time ever. He'd worked on it every spare moment he had, perfecting it and transposing the music so that it was fit for an orchestra. Bella gasped, tears threatening to fall. It was beautiful and soothing, and entirely _hers_. She understood that each time Edward played it in public, it was truly for her – the people listening could enjoy it, appreciate it, but would never understand the intimacy attached to that song. Bella swore she saw Edward glance up, a contented smile lifting his lips.

The music flowed throughout the room, a perfect harmony of the symphony, the piano and the choir. Few songs were repeated from last year's performance. Edward mixed the classics, the carols and his own compositions that enchanted the audience. His final piece was his own "Snow's Caress" a sweet wintry piece that perfectly captured snow's dance from the heavens to earth, gently swaying. It grew loud and abrasive to Bella's ears in the middle, a blizzard happening within the theatre. She gasped, Edward so passionate on the piano that it had completely captivated her. Edward stood as the violin's notes had faded out, and bowed. Thunderous applause shook the theatre, reaching the ceiling and shaking the opulent chandelier. He beamed at the crowd, though his eyes were trained on Bella's balcony. He turned to exit the stage.

The applause continued. Edward stepped out, to be greeted by _two_ gorgeous women. One held the standard issue bouquet, courtesy of the theatre and orchestra. He smiled, but looked upon the other bundle with a perplexed look on his face. He looked at the tag, and Bella could tell when his heart lifted. Bella, quite simply had signed her name, with a heart. The bouquet was filled with the scents he had obsessed over – the ones he claimed Bella smelled like. It was filled with freesia and lilies, jasmine and peppermint leaves were laced throughout. He held both, the one from Bella beside his heart. She left the balcony quickly, blushing slightly as the usher looked upon her with a frown marring his forehead.

She raced the twisting halls to Edward's place, ready to meet him in the dressing suite. She was there only a few minutes prior to him. He walked in, placed the bouquets haphazardly on the baby grand before picking Bella up and crushing his lips to hers. It was long and passionate, stoking the ever burning fire low in Bella's stomach. He broke away, peppering her jaw and neck with feather light kisses. He pulled away completely and Bella slumped forward. He leaned down and kissed her stomach, murmuring incoherently against the satin.

"God, Edward… it was," she sighed, at a loss for words.

"Don't. I know exactly how it was. Because _you_ where there – I saw you – and you were bloody beautiful," he said, pulling Bella close to him.

They wandered the halls for a while, content with holding hands and speaking volumes in a look. There was a tastefully done after party, being held at the Hilton, right in down town Chicago. Before Edward could tactfully turn down the invitation, Bella had enthusiastically agreed to stop by. Edward sighed quietly, to which Bella elbowed him in the ribs.

They went back and gathered their things, Edward repeating the same ritual with Bella's stomach – she giggled, asking if he was going to do this every time. He playfully growled, other wise ignoring the question. They walked slowly to Edward's car, taking their time in the snow and the night. It was so reminiscent of their first night; Bella fought the irrational urge to cry. He noticed her unshed tears and gently kissed her eyelids. Saying nothing, Edward continued to lead her to the car; then carefully buckling her in. He drove the snowy streets to the hotel, carefully, sending furtive glances towards Bella every so often.

Bella was used to the opulence that surrounded Edward. Being the daughter of a small town police chief, Bella had grown up with a comfortable lifestyle, but not a lavish one. When she was dating Michael – it pained her to do think of it – she had slowly grown accustomed to the extravagant life – filled with yes-men and without limits. When Michael had thrived in such conditions, Edward had not. He preferred simplicity to profligacy. Despite these feelings, he understood what was expected from and how he was to comply.

The Hilton was tastefully decorated. A humongous Christmas tree, decorated with crystal ornaments and twinkling white lights. Garland was strewn along the concierge's desk, trimmed the elevator doors, and adorned the door frames leading to the ball room. Edward pulled Bella through, his hand grasping her hip, effectively pinning her to his side. She sighed, though she secretly thrilled in the possessive gesture. Edward was constantly putting his hand on the small of her back, or firmly holding her hands – his intentions were clear, though, and the messages were received. Bella was _his_.

The board members were jovial in their Christmas spirit, greeting both Bella and Edward enthusiastically. Choir members and orchestra members mingled with the theatre staff, and the well to do patrons. Glasses of champagne were being passed around by the agile wait staff, artfully dodging groups of people, or the lone meanderer. Edward asked one of the waiters to bring a glass of orange juice, and three fingers of Jameson whiskey.

The couple stood still while each of the board members of the theatre, the composer and patrons each made a speech and a toast; Bella's orange juice was getting dangerously low. Edward rolled his eyes at the corny toasts; but nonetheless, he rose his glass each time, smirking smugly when his name was mentioned – which was often. Bella scoffed, playfully smacking his chest.

He grabbed and spun her, lightning fast, clutching her between his arms. He dipped his head. Bella could feel his breath fan across her face, the smell of whiskey tickling her nose.

"Merry Christmas, love," he whispered, just as the CFO of the theatre announced midnight. He kissed her, slowly, sensuously. She responded with equal enthusiasm and fervor.

"Merry Christmas, Edward," she sighed against his lips. He moved his head, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. She breathed deeply, smelling Polo Blue and _Edward_.

"Let's leave, okay?" he said, kissing the top of her head. "I think Felix is expecting us."

"Fine." She replied, utterly content enough to stand all night in his arms. He led her around the hall, quickly saying good byes.

It was a secluded hallway – the plush carpet muffled the sounds of Bella's and Edward's shoes. He pushed her to the wall, and began to kiss her senseless. Perhaps it was moments, minutes or hours; Edward was making her forget her name. Pulling away slowly, he pressed three chaste kisses to her swollen lips.

"I love you, Bella" Edward murmured into her hair.

"I love you, Edward, so much." It thrilled her to respond to his beautiful words.

"Charming, isn't it?" A snide voice commented from over Edward's shoulder. Bella gasped, horrified at the sound of his voice.

"It's quite sweet, actually," Michael continued. "So, _endearing_."

"Michael, please…" Bella gasped, mortification sinking in.

"It took you two and half years to say 'I love you' to me. And it's been, what, seven months? I didn't think you had it in you," Michael cut in ruthlessly.

"While I enjoy talking to people who are less fortunate than me… I'd like it even more if you went away," Edward said sharply, his eyes emerald fires. Bella was enthralled with his burning gaze, even considering the situation.

"Come now, Edward. You got the girl, in the end, didn't you? Why don't you just _indulge_ me?" Michael said bitingly.

"Go away, Mikey, please," Bella said quietly, wishing the ground would open up and suck Michael into the abyss. _No such luck_, she thought sourly.

"I have no reason to do _anything_ for you. You paid the price for your conceited, flashy, self entitled attitude," Edward said, pushing Bella in behind him.

"I was none of those things. Bella left me for someone… less." He smirked, his eyes glittering with contempt and hatred. Bella, who had seen flashes of his true colors over the course of their relationship, hadn't realized how complete the blackness of his personality was. The darkness _was_ him.

"I beg to disagree, Michael. Edward…" she trailed off, pausing to collect her self. "He completes me more than you ever could. Than _anyone_ ever could. Michael, you're not even a quarter of the man he is. I don't know…" she stopped herself, refusing to sink to his deplorable level. He, however, managed to catch the gist of it.

"You're a stupid woman, Bella. I could've given you the world, status, money and power. And you chose a man who can serenade you. It's despicable, that you'd trade it all in – spreading your legs for the next willing… _man_." He smirked; satisfied he'd done enough damage to Bella.

Bella could have sworn she was going to cry. She thought the tears were already there, ready and waiting to cascade down her cheeks. Instead, she laughed. Michael was walking away when he heard the sound. He whipped about, to see the equally astonished expression gracing Edward's face.

"You're a complete prick, Michael. You're even more of an idiot than I gave you credit for. Money? Wealth? Power? How well did you know me?" Bella shook her head, refusing his answer. He didn't even get a chance – it died on his lips. "Not well at all, you arrogant conceited man. Edward… there was never really anyone else." She said, and walked away.

Edward followed her in stunned silence. He glanced back once, to see Michael gaping like a blowfish – his cheeks puffed out, eyes drooping comically.

"That was liberating!" Bella cried softly.

"You were gorgeous. I'm so proud of you, love," Edward was in awe. It was laced in his tone, and painted on his face. Bella yanked his head down for a smacking kiss.

"Thanks. Can we go to Felix's now? I think we need to leave," she muttered, smiling sweetly.

The drive was filled with comic relief, provided by Bella. She had taken it upon herself to describe Michael's mother to in great detail – from the overdone blonde highlights, to the overly pink toenails.

"Disgusting," she grimaced, while Edward laughed. As he pulled up to Felix's he began to subtly fidget. Bella wondered where the jumpy behavior stemmed from, but otherwise ignored it.

He pulled her quickly to the door, chortling at the sight of her with snow decorating her mahogany hair. Felix had left already; Bella couldn't help the feelings of dismay. Bella and Edward had continuously visited the bar since Christmas – it was their hideaway, their own haven. The intimate setting always got to Bella. The mistletoes had stayed up all year, after Bella had mentioned it once to Felix how much she liked them.

Edward was dancing around slightly agitated. "Bella." He said softly, finally.

He pulled her over to the piano bench, sitting them both down softly.

"I'm… excited about this. The baby, Michael's final goodbye, my work, yours. Our life, it's excellent. I couldn't think of it possibly being better," he sighed.

"I love you, Edward. I love everything about us," Bella responded; she had no idea what were Edward was going.

"Will you marry me?" he blurted, his ears going pink in the dim light.

"What? I -" Edward immediately threw his hands over his mouth.

"I don't know where that came from. God, Bella. I'm so sorry for springing it on you. I'm not prepared – no ring, nothing – I _wasn't even thinking about asking you_," he said, running his hands furiously through his hair.

"Edward. I just –"

"The baby and Michael's face when you shut him down. It just pushed me over the edge," he babbled. Bella thought it was kind of cute, considering he was so rarely flustered.

"Say no. Please say no." Edward stopped suddenly, inhaling.

"Yes."

"You'll say no?"

"No. I'm saying yes. I want to marry you. I _need_ to," Bella said firmly.

"But – what… the baby? Fuck it," he said on a ragged breath. "Not the baby," Edward amended.

"I love you, Edward. I couldn't dream of marrying someone else. Living with them for the rest of my life. Edward, it has to be you. I need it too," Bella said.

"Will you marry me, Isabella Swan?" he asked solemnly. "I'm not talking out my ass now, seriously."

She giggled at the unconventional proposal. "Yes. Edward Cullen, I would love to marry you. I'm not talking out my ass, either."

He picked her up and crashed his lips to hers. He stood her on the piano bench, her head only a foot or so above his.

"I love you. It makes me weak inside, just thinking about it," he whispered against her mouth. "I love that it's my baby. I love that you'll be coming back to my – our – home. I love that you said 'yes'. Isabella Marie Swan, I…"

"I get it," she chuckled. "'I love you'. For the record, I love you too, Edward."

Edward and Bella both knew that they'd burn up soon – they cut the trip short.

As he pulled her into the car, pausing to kiss snowflakes away, he murmured, "Merry Christmas, love."

"Merry Christmas, Edward," Bella responded. "Let's go home."

~:~

And so, on a snowy Christmas Night, Bella and Edward spent it together, wrapped passionately in each others arms. Their love, like so few people experienced, was limitless. It was their strength; their backbone and foundation. Their night was much like "Snow's Caress"; it was sweet, sultry, seductive, passionate and powerful.

Truly, it was much like the relationship itself – boundless in strength and love. For the both of them, there had never been anyone else.

_The End_

**A/N:** Different, huh? I know, I know, we can thank my sociology class and studying the baby cycle for Bella's baby. More fluff, what'd you think? Remember when I said that this was it? Aha, my bad joke for you. I'm going to post an outtake. A review will get a teaser and a description. How's that for incentive? No, not working for you? Anyways…

I had to edit this. My beta was swamped with RL. So if there are any mistakes, tell me please. Thank you.

For those that celebrate, Merry Christmas! And for those that don't, I hope your day rocks your socks, and Happy Holidays!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Here it is! Enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** Stephenie Meyer own all things related to the _Twilight Saga_. The Trans-Siberian owns the rights to the song "Christmas Dreams". No copyright infringement intended. All songs mentioned in the chapter are not mine.

**An Outtake** – Christmas Dreams

Edward Cullen was pacing his suite; back and forth, stalking the room from the piano to the door. His footsteps were quickly wearing a path in the plush carpet with furious imprints of his feet marring the neutral print. Edward Cullen was not a man to be kept waiting idly. And, for some unbeknownst reason to him, Michael Newton believed he was able to do so.

Edward scoffed at the thought of the other man. Dubbed the "Golden Boy" of Illinois, Newton used his position as the Governor's son to squeeze, slander, smile and sweet talk his way through the dirt – and ooze saccharine happiness in the good. At least, it was how it appeared to Edward. He really should have been going to practice – the one the Symphony was graciously pushing back – but instead, he was waiting on some inconsiderate twerp.

Edward wondered, not for the first time, the point of the meeting. He had never before considered Michael Newton a fan, or even an interested follower of his music. Truly, the man had never really crossed his mind. Except for when he was littering the tabloids, and filling the entertainment pages of newsstands, slickly smiling and always with the demure brunette, her face constantly away from the camera. She intrigued him, for why would such a shy woman stay with a man who attracted – truly, he sought – the lens of a camera? It made no sense. Perhaps she was the reason? Edward immediately stopped that train of thoughts – Newton did not seem considerate enough to do anything for anyone else, if even his tardiness was an indicator. The man thought of no one but himself.

Edward paged the front desk. "Hello? Is Michael Newton here yet?" he demanded, frustrated with the idiot.

"No, sorry, sir. Shall we notify you when he has arrived?" the lady's tone was formal, and businesslike, with just enough of empathetic frustration on Edward's behalf that it grated on his nerves, inexplicably.

"Please do," he grated, before hanging up.

Edward Cullen did not enjoy rude behavior, from the Golden Boy or otherwise. Aggravated, he chucked the phone onto the couch, so hard it bounced to the floor. Sighing, he picked it up and placed it in the cradle.

He moved to the piano, and began to play various pieces that were to be used in the concert. He mixed it all up, classics, carols, his own compositions, changing the order and the general flow from the real line up. His fingers glided over the keys, caressing them, making them sing, coaxing such music from them Edward was moved with it. He scoffed each and every time people told him the music came from _him_ – he believed it was the piano. Edward was merely a catalyst. Nobody, _nobody_, understood the power of the piano, unless they were so in tune with it. Edward was not stupid enough (or backwards, as most people thought) to deny he was gifted, prodigal even. He felt everything was in the piano, and he coaxed it out.

He didn't hear the phone – he knew that as soon as he heard the most aggravating voice – "I believe you'll do".

Do? _Do?_ Edward never scraped by _anyone's_ standards – the arrogant comment grated his very last nerve.

"I'm so glad," he seethed, refusing to turn around and look at the oaf.

"Good. Are you ready for the Christmas Eve concert?" Newton began conversationally.

"Yes, we have the music choice – we're preparing their order. General practice," Edward responded, a mantra of _keep it brief_ circling his head.

"Well… I have a song request for you. Are you aware of Vivaldi?"

Edward was in total awe of this man's ignorance. Edward Cullen, a classically trained pianist since the age of four, a celebrated composer around the world, was asked if knew of Vivaldi? Was Newton serious?

"I have, yes," Edward replied, gripping the cover so hard, he thought he heard a faint cracking noise. He turned around slowly, finally releasing the cover from his iron grasp.

Michael Newton first got his moniker "Golden Boy" for his sunny looks – blond hair, dimples and laugh lines in all the right places, clear blue eyes, he had been the poster boy for contented teenager – as soon as his father ran for the governor position. Edward had always figured the man had stuck his son in the press, using him to squeeze votes and milk them into the position he was in now. It was clear to Edward now that it had never bothered Newton.

"Excellent, excellent. You're to play _Autumn_, from the Four Seasons? Yes, that's what I need done. You, Mr. Cullen are the man to deliver. I'm so pleased," Newton said, a greasy smile twisting his face.

"What makes you so sure that I'll do it?" Edward found himself asking, through grated teeth.

"Well, I asked nicely," Newton said; a confused look on his face.

_I'm sure once this is over, he'll run to his dad._ "And?"

"I'm sure you know who my father is, Mr. Cullen. I am not a man to be trifled with," he said, a threatening tone entering his voice – it was the first time the false pleasantries were dropped. Edward found it rather refreshing.

"I'm not a man to threaten, Mr. Newton. Under no uncertain terms, will I play _Autumn_. Regardless of your father," Edward said sharply, authority filling his tone. He stood up, his imposing height and voice unconsciously moving Newton backwards.

"Mr. Cullen, I do not think you understand the implications of such a music choice. My girlfriend, Isabella, very much enjoys the piece. I simply require that you play it, with perhaps, a little dedication for her," he was silent a moment, his eyes alight with pensive glow. "Oh, yes, definitely the introduction."

"No."

"Really, is it not so simple for you to do as you're told? You're an inconsiderate man, Mr. Cullen," Newton glared petulantly.

"Perhaps, but I'd like to think not. I am not going to do the piece for you. Truly, I do not care that your girlfriend enjoys _Autumn_. It isn't fair to the orchestra, who has gracefully allowed me to play with them this year. Mr. Newton, you aren't putting only myself out, you are affecting the entire symphony – the orchestra, the choir, the composer, the stage hands, the patrons." Edward went silent, tapping his finger to his chin.

Newton was about to speak when Edward spoke again. "I believe 'no' is not a word you hear often enough. This shall be a lesson for you, then. I will not throw the entire _theatre_ off balance, because you have ridiculous notions of dedicating a song to your _girlfriend_. It is not going to happen," he said, each word puncturing Newton's ego.

"But – I was to propose-" Newton spluttered.

"Isn't that lovely? Still, your overrated romance is not doing anything for me," Edward said, flicking his hand in dismissal. He knew – he was willing to bet his grand piano – that Newton knew very well the patronizing, condescending move; he'd just never received one.

"My father will hear about this, I can assure you!" he was actually turning colour. His pasty complexion was fading away as an unattractive red settled in. he looked like a tomato with Ken hair – Edward snorted at the mental image, not hiding his amusement.

"Really? Go ahead, call him now, if you must," Edward sneered, his disdain evident with the man in front of him.

Newton searched his coat pockets before producing a photo. "Here." He thrust it to Edward.

Edward never understood why he grabbed the photo; truly, he should have tossed the ignoramus on his ass, and let the theatre security deal with him further. But he didn't. He picked up the photo, looking into the frame curiously.

He was taken aback by the beauty in front of him. It was sunny in the picture, and part of it was from the woman's smile. Beautiful, bottomless intelligent brown eyes looked into the camera. The sun caught red in her hair – Edward was positive it was natural – and brought it forth, the fiery color at war with the earthy brown tones. She was wearing a sun dress that confirmed her beauty was not only of face – the dress worked with her ample curves. _Isabella_… Very, very, Isabella. _Bella_…

He looked up pulling himself out of the trance the temptress in the picture had put him in, to see Newton's greedy smile, his manipulative look sickening. _That bastard_. The bastard had used his girlfriend, and her obvious beauty to sway Edward. He had _used_ her to gain him an advantage. It was disgusting – Edward was repulsed by his actions, so easily swayed and played by Michael Newton's lechery.

"Will you do it, Mr. Cullen?" he asked.

He's so cocksure of himself; Edward was excited to put him in his place. "No, you fool. A pretty face will not move me. Get. Out. I have no more need for you," Edward snapped.

He turned around, effectively refusing Newton. He was sitting on the piano bench, fully knowing Newton was still in the room. The open mouthed breathing and look of shock that graced his face was highly entertaining. Edward mused he would keep him around just for the fun of it; but then he thought of his arrogance. _Not worth it, not worth it_. "Mr. Newton? Please close the door on your way out."

The resounding slam of the door had Edward grinning like the Cheshire cat. As he played, the pretty woman from the picture took residence in his thoughts. He hadn't noticed his fingers movements until almost the end of _Autumn_. Shaking his head of the thoughts of them kissing, he returned to his music, practicing diligently.

He was surprised to realize the visit with Michael Newton, possibly one of the most annoying and sleazy men on this earth had actually cheered Edward up. But really, it didn't have anything to do with the idiot, but of _her_. He supposed the Christmas show would be highly interesting.

So Edward Cullen practiced, studiously avoiding any Vivaldi unless necessary. It was so unfortunate, for he had always greatly enjoyed the Italian. But with the attached notion of another Italian, he risked his displeasure for untoward thoughts, no matter how lecherous Michael Newton was.

Edward was not going to think of Isabella. Except that was all he was able to do.

**A/N:** What do you think? Was it worth the ridiculous wait? How was the peak into Edward's head? I'll have the lyrics up on my profile soon (and I'll try to find the videos) – but the title pretty much says it all. Yes, this is the end. For real.

Thanks for reading! Your thoughts and reviews are very much appreciated.


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